


Circling

by Eternallost



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Banter, F/M, Hospital, Power Dynamics, Smut, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 13:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17101256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternallost/pseuds/Eternallost
Summary: Count Olaf gets a moment alone with Violet in the Hostile Hospital.





	Circling

 He was watching. His eyes always watching. Even with a woman, as beautiful as she was treacherous, on his arm. He never seemed to look at Esme. She hung there like an expensive bag, some forgotten accessory that held onto things. Resentment mainly. At times Violet wondered why Count Olaf let her hang there at all. At the apartment she’d come to see why it was all necessary: The woman in a tailored suit shoving her and her siblings down, down, into the darkness of an ersatz elevator. She thought she would die- like so many times before. Then an illumination flickered in the darkness. _He won’t let us die. He needs us. He won’t let_ **me** _die_. And that sickly thought caught her abruptly, in the same manner as the rope web. It grew in her like a twisted seed, burned like molten iron on a cage. _He won’t let_ **me** _die_. Why? She was closest to acquiring the fortune, mere months away. The reason his shiny eyes stared at her as if she were an emerald, a ruby, a diamond. _His prize._

These were the thoughts swirling in her head as she lay strapped to the hospital bed, under the gaze of those very same eyes. He’d sent his troupe to find her siblings. Esme lingered a moment at the door. _Was it because she thought he would run off with the fortune on his own?_ If it was, maybe she had some sense.

 “Pretty little Violet,” Olaf brushed the back of his knuckle against her cheek, that twisted seed unfurling its leaves in her stomach. “You should have known you couldn’t run forever. Now you’ll never run again.”

 “You won’t hurt me.”

 A strange look came over his face as he took a seat at her bedside. His stolen doctor’s coat opening up to reveal a vest that dimpled at his midsection. The same brown woolen fabric that his pants were made of, she noticed, as he crossed one leg over another. He placed his elbow on her bed and leaned into his hand. “Whatever makes you think that?”

 “You haven’t yet. Not really. And you need me alive.”

 “You?” He tilted his head, “No, no. Any Baudelaire brat will do.”

 “You _want_ me.” She swallowed.

 He took his hand from her bed and relinquished it to his thigh, sitting straight. “ _What did you say?_ ”

“I’ve seen how you look at me. You’ve never once looked at Klaus or Sunny that way.” She blinked. “Or Esme.” 

His hands pinned her on either side of her shoulders, though she was already immobile. He brought his face towards hers and for a moment she thought he’d meant to kiss her. But as she closed her eyes, she felt his breath on her ear. “You’re playing a dangerous game, _orphan_.” 

“More dangerous than the games you play? Than arson?”

 He gave a small, approving laugh. “ _This_ fire will eat you alive and leave you whole.”

Her heart sped up. “What do you mean?”

He pulled back at the sound of her voice, examining her eyes. Something akin to pity on his face. “You feel it already, don’t you?”

“Feel what?”

He brought his stethoscope to her chest, just now playing the role of the man he was dressed as. Her skin became gooseflesh in response, her nipples hard. “Flush cheeks, fast heartrate, restricted speech.” He removed the instrument from his ears. “Oh my. My, my. This is very unfortunate indeed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Miss Baudelaire I’m afraid you’ve come down with something.” A wicked smile came to his face, “A crush.” He spoke with a bit of surprise, “On _me_.”

“That’s impossible!” She turned her face away as she felt her ears burn. “You’re absolutely criminally _insane!_ ”

“And you **love** it.” She could hear his smile. 

“You’re a murderer!” She closed her eyes tighter. 

“And it excites you.”

 “You’ve got me strapped to a hospital bed!” 

“And it _turns you on_.” 

She turned to look at her captor, feeling as if her body were sunburnt. “Impossible.” 

“Well now, since I am your doctor, why don’t we take a look and see, _hm_?”

“I- I don’t-” she stuttered.

“Violet,” he purred, “is it that you don’t want me to see because… I’m right?”

 “You could never be _right,_ you’re all that’s _wrong!_ ” she huffed in desperation. “Go on then, you were probably going to do it anyway. You pervert.”

“Oh, I’m the pervert?” Olaf’s voice became husky as he used a pen from the doctor’s pocket to move aside her panties. “I’m the pervert, when you’re the one so wet and ready at a mere suggestion?”

Her eyes locked with his, heat rising from her neck and washing over her face.

“Oh, Violet, Violet,” he tutted as he took a seat on the bed, “you tell yourself I’m the bad guy, don’t you?”

“You _are_! Look at you!”

“Look at you,” he appraised her and leaned close to her ear once more. “Tell yourself I’m the bad guy, Violet,” he whispered, “tell yourself I’m to blame, but let yourself have something _good_.” His hands ghosted above. The madness swelled within her as she hesitated, feeling her very essence center between her legs. She could almost feel the warmth of his hand. _Almost_. With an intake of breath she gave an imperceptible buck of her hips, so small she could nearly blame it on him when her flesh met his waiting palm. “There we go,” he breathed as if he’d been withholding, “that’s a good girl. Let me take care of you.” His thumb was a constant circle, circling like the vulture that he was. Somehow, she was flying up there with him, circling, circling… All her sorrows were beneath her now. She was soaring as her mouth ran dry.

“Violet,” she heard a voice, one much younger than the man beside her appeared. 

She blinked as she examined his expression, with all his watching she had not yet realized how much he’d simply desired to be watched in return. His eyes sought her approval as she observed his other hand reaching for the fly of his trousers. She chewed her lip, hoping the slight nod of her head was enough to get him going without implicating her further in this sin. Anything. _Anything_ as long as his fingers wouldn’t stop building this thing inside her. She gasped with him as he removed himself from his confines. For a moment her hands absently fought against the straps to touch his heat.

A surprised and then knowing smile flickered across his face. He paused and pressed his fingers to her. “What was that, Ms. Baudelaire? You want me to stop?” 

She bit her lips and fought the tears of frustration and embarrassment that threatened to fall. “You know your answer,” she struggled against her beating heart.

 “No,” he shook his head slowly, “I’m afraid I most certainly do not. Do you want this?” He coxed his finger against her. 

“Ah!” she replied.

“That’s not an answer,” he stroked himself in return and she wondered if her eyes were just as shiny. “Do you want this,” he slipped a finger inside of her, emphasizing with each thrust, “Miss Bau. del. aire?”

“Yes!” She shut her eyes at the sensation, hoping to focus only on that and not the man who stoked the fire within her. But, as he pumped her harder, she found herself jostled from reason, seeking some sort of understanding in his face. 

“Violet,” his voice was breathless, soft; saccharine without the venom or sarcasm. She could almost pretend he was someone else. Someone gentle, kind, noble… And to her own derision she found those thoughts did nothing for her. “Will you be my good little girl?”

She took in a breath.

“Close, so close,” he looked as if he were in pain, and she was the one that put him there.

“Violet,” he repeated as he licked his lips, “come for me,” his voice broke, “come for me Violet, _please_.”

That strange dissonance of the word caused her body to spasm again the ties that bound her. For a single moment nothing else mattered except his hand inside of her and her body humming. She heard him cry out in her aftershocks, spilling himself across the white linens on her bed. Violet blinked hazily as she watched him stroke the last ounces of pleasure from himself. She swallowed. She was thirsty, tired, and suddenly very unsure. Within a matter of moments, he was back in his pants and she’d wondered if it had ever happened at all. The fading flush on his cheeks was the only sign. 

“We could end this right now, you know,” she spoke experimentally. “Really. You don’t have to go through with this.” 

He snorted a laugh with no humor in it. “Tell me Violet,” He looked to her then, “what else can I do?”


End file.
